


Hic Sunt Dracones

by strawberrykait



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Implied Relationships, Mild Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-15
Updated: 2012-04-15
Packaged: 2017-11-03 17:52:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/384214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberrykait/pseuds/strawberrykait
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One afternoon, as Draco Malfoy awoke from a heavy stupor, he discovered he had been transformed…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hic Sunt Dracones

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Anuna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anuna/gifts).



> Disclaimer: Anything recognizable belongs to J.K. Rowling. I’m just playing within her world.  
> Story Notes: This story is for Anuna, who prompted me with the lyrics to Fragile by Sting.  
> Beta(s): M, without whom this would never have been completed. Thank you, my friend!

One would think that, being a dragon, a trip to Romania would be easy, but it was far from simple for Draco Malfoy. 

It had taken quite some time for Draco to acquiesce and seek real help, rather than surrender to the ruin of his life and home. For nearly two years, he had been living like this, unable to communicate with anyone at all, an outcast, and feared by the people of Wiltshire. Of course, that was the only silver lining to this horrible curse, he reasoned, but it was far from satisfaction. 

Two years ago, Draco had been in the prime of his life. Having come into his inheritance, he traveled abroad, living the luxurious life of a bachelor with no responsibilities. Any little whim was met, any itch to experience even the most extravagant desire, no matter the consequences, was never given a second thought. Nothing and no one had been denied him.

His life was perfect.

Then one late afternoon he awoke from a drunken stupor feeling quite heavy. Looking down, he expected to see the two witches he had spent the previous evening with, their names completely forgotten, but instead he saw only green scales. Horrified, Draco jumped out of his bed, or attempted to, at least, but lacked any coordination. He tumbled to the carpeted floor and a mighty, thunderous echo resounded through his chambers. He screamed out for his house elf but could not hear his own voice over the terrible roar of a dragon.

All sense of decorum lost, Draco scuttled back the best he could, absolutely petrified. _A dragon. In my bedroom. This cannot be real. I must be dreaming! How else could a dragon…_

But soon he realized just how horribly wrong things had turned. His body did not feel like his own, his head was too heavy, and there was something wrong with his voice. He crawled as best he could through the door to his en suite as the doorway began crumbling around him. The pain from the falling stone and plaster seemed muted as it hit his back and head. 

There, in the mirror facing him was his worst nightmare come true.

Instead of his long, platinum hair were a dozen golden horns, curving up and back across his head. Instead of his sculpted, patrician nose he saw a horribly large snout, the nostrils flaring back at his reflection. Golden hair sprouted off his chin, and his pale skin had toughed into thick, green and white scales. _Merlin, no…_

§§§§

The fact that Draco Malfoy had turned into a dragon was not a laughing matter. Hardly any time passed before he had destroyed his Italian villa, all his house-elves scattering in the debris, frightened by their once master. Although he tried talking very quietly, gently even, everyone he approached ran away in abject horror. When he finally noticed the _Polizia de Stato_ converging, Draco panicked. Relying on his body’s new instincts, humongous wings unfurled from his back, their width incredible and apparently terrifying. The police halted long enough for Draco to lift off and escape, their guns only remembered afterward.

He thought of a thousand possible solutions to his fate, but without the help of a wizard – any wizard, anywhere – it was hopeless. Weeks were spent as Draco tried to undo the curse upon himself without a wand, yet he couldn’t so much as levitate a stone. His new nature was stronger than his personal resolve. The only thing he found pleasant about his transformation was the flying. Having been an excellent Seeker, the sensation of flying, of being capable of flying himself rather than dependent on a broom, was exhilarating. In the sky, soaring over mountains and shimmering lakes, he was free. The chilling air cleared his head enough from his torment that he could pretend everything would be all right. It was only when he caught his own reflection in the clear waters below that Draco could not escape into his fantasies. 

At first unable to bear the thought of eating live animals, he soon grew hungry and weak. Eventually, he was on the verge of succumbing to either death or acceptance. Many times he thought he had chosen poorly, considering the difficulty of catching frantic, running beasts. He was always hungry, never capable of killing enough to fill his enormous belly, and then the aches came. Hunting, although necessary, was a last resort for Draco. Between his failures and his sorrow, he quickly became accustomed to hunger and pain.

Not two months of his new life had passed before he was hunted down and nearly captured. He realized how foolish he had been, living out in the open, if not within sight of mankind, and it was a lesson he paid for dearly. Licking his many wounds, Draco managed to escape, flying aimlessly for days, desperate for isolation, for sanctuary, and unable to find it, until at last, when his scrawny, weak body could hardly stay aloft, the solution presented itself. 

For two excruciatingly long years, Draco the dragon had been hiding in plain sight, at his ancestral home, Malfoy Manor in Wiltshire, desolate and alone. The once magnificent manor house with its sprawling green lawns and ornate gardens, its snowy white peacocks and hens milling about, and every luxury of a past life was now little more than a crumbling ruin, a shell of a home. A worthy dwelling for the damned. Every morning when the bright sun would shine over the tops of the surrounding forest of his home, Draco cried.

§§§§

Early one morning, soon after the dawn, Draco thought he heard voices. Straining his small ears, he concentrated. He had, once or twice, encountered Muggles on his property and had easily evaded them. Not since Italy had he willingly faced a man, wizard or Muggle. That lesson had been learned quickly.

He slowly rose up from his upholstery nest, stretching his nearly atrophied muscles in case he had to quickly fly. There was something rather familiar about the voices, he noted. Silently he crept around the broken staircase, casting a silvery grey eye though every opening facing the side lawn. To his utter astonishment, there stood Harry Potter and Ron Weasley. 

At first, cold dread filled Draco’s chest at seeing his school days nemeses. Why had they come here? Did they know he was there? Could they be after him? Perhaps they were merely here to gloat upon the disintegration of the Malfoy family? Fear was replaced by anger and resentment at the thought. _How dare they come here and desecrate my home and family? I could squash them with these taloned hands! Burn them to nothing more than ashes, blowing through the broken rubble of my ancestors._

With righteous anger, Draco’s chest puffed out, curls of smoke drifting from his flared nostrils. His eyes fell to slits and his neck crouched low between his hunched shoulders. He would meet them, face them down, and destroy them before they even caught wind of him. If he was going to die, the thought of ridding the world of two of the most infuriating people was an unexpected salve to his soul and he gathered what strength remained. As he clawed his way down the outside of the manor, no longer wary of any noise he might make, he listened.

“Shut up, Ron!” Potter yelled at his friend, who immediately went silent. “I’m sorry, but you have to be quiet, or else…”

“But we’re Aurors,” Weasley quietly protested after a minute. “It’s not our job to go dragon hunting!” So, they knew he was here. Very well, then. He would show no pity for them. Weasley’s nasally voice echoed up towards where Draco clung. “Why can’t the Ministry hire -”

“Because they asked us to! Besides, isn’t this more exciting than sitting behind a desk all day? I mean, look where we are! This used to be Malfoy’s place and look what’s become of it – a hideout for a dragon. We were once heroes, Ron. Remember all the adventures we had growing up? Think about everything we’ve faced,” Potter halted before his companion, grabbing him by his lapels. Draco crept down the wall ever closer, more smoke billowing through his nostrils. 

“Together we’ve faced trolls, mad wizards, Snape,” he said with reluctance.

“Spiders,” a cringing Weasley replied. Potter nodded, clapping his hand on Weasley’s shoulder for reassurance.

“Not to mention the most dangerous wizard of all time. What’s a dragon compared to all that?” He laughed, and Weasley visible relaxed. “Besides, we’ve faced dragons before,” he continued, resuming his march up to the front of the manor. They still had not noticed Draco, and a small part of him was perturbed for that. How had these two idiots become Aurors?

“And all we’re doing,” Weasley said at last. “Is capturing this one to ship ‘im off to Charlie.”

Draco did not like the sound of that. If he failed to dispatch Potty and Weaslebee then they might send others after him, possibly dozens of wizards. He did not say they were here to kill him, but who was Charlie and what did he have in store for Draco? No, he did not like the sound of this at all. It was settled, then. It was kill or be killed. 

As Draco descended ever closer to the pair, he heard Weasley whine, “If only Hermione were here…”

He blinked. Hermione Granger, the supposedly brightest witch of this age. It surprised him she was not gallivanting around here as well, ordering the imbeciles. Of course, why hadn’t it occurred to him before! Granger would know how to reverse his transformation. Throughout their years at Hogwarts, the girl could hardly keep her hand out of the air, always showing off to the professors. If anybody could save Draco, it would be Granger. And she was compassionate, too. She would never try to kill a harmless dragon. Unless she knew it was Draco…

It was worth the risk, he decided, and so he fell to the ground with a resonating boom, knocking several bricks loose in his wake, collapsing into a tangled mess of limbs and wings. He knew better than that, that he would likely hurt himself more, which he did, but he needed to quickly set his plan in motion. He expected to draw their attention quickly, so Draco set about his plan. Their shouts were unbelievable, followed by more cajoling from Weasley to leave off, but soon enough they were in view, wands aloft. Exhausted and weary, Draco was waiting for them, offering his most placating look. At least, he hoped he was.

The two wizards, looking no different than Draco remembered, stood before him with determination and fear in their eyes. Carefully, so as not to incite any impetuous, irreversible damage, Draco lifted his left hand off the ground and did his best to point. There, in the dry, loose dirt, he had attempted to communicate with his would-be imprisoners. His claws were no substitute for a real quill, or even a sharp stick for that matter, but he made out the best he could. He was quite proud of his efforts, actually. The task proved much harder than he anticipated, having been so long out of practice. Even thinking of the words had taken tremendous effort, but he had managed. 

In large, almost illegible letters, Draco had written a single word: Help.

Unfortunately, neither man noticed his message, but at least they had not begun casting willy nilly. Potter slowly approached him and, against his natural instincts, both as a dragon and as man reliving his childhood resentment for another man, Draco remained subdued, even lowering his head to both, ever tapping at his sloppy writing. Potter and Weasley were seemingly astounded by his passivity. He withstood their not-so quiet debate that lasted several minutes, which then lead to Potter casting _Incarcerous_ about him, and even allowed them to come closer, all without any sudden moves on his part. But when Weasley produced a special muzzle, Draco reacted negatively. His wings shudder across his back, disturbing the weak binding and startling Potter. Weasley moaned, dropped the muzzle, and scuttled several metres back. Attempting to control his reaction, Draco huffed out several breaths and this time stomped next to his message. Eventually, Potter scuffed the desperate word out, as though it had never been, and continued to detain Draco.

Draco rolled his eyes. Weasley gaped up at him. “Did…did he just…?”

Nearly half an hour passed while Potter and Weasley discussed the best way to transport their bounty. Their conversation was annoying, to say the least. Having to listen to them talk like he was nothing more than a stupid animal, devoid of basic intelligence and understanding, was one of the greatest humiliations Draco could recall in recent history. It was also disheartening having no means to let them know who he was or that he had been cursed into this form. But he refused to give up all hope. Eventually, once these two idiots decided how they were all going to travel together, he would be among intelligent beings, much more powerful wizards who would gladly undo this travesty and be adequately compensated, depending, of course, on how quickly they completed the task. Two years trapped in this alien body was more than anyone ought to endure. If neither of these arses were capable of reading a quite obvious message in the dirt…  
Unfortunately, despite his future intentions and fantasies of revenge, nothing changed the fact that they intended to capture and ship Draco off to Romania to Charlie Weasley.

Knowing that his only hope was Granger, and hoping that she would eventually make an appearance, since the three of them had been practically inseparable since second year, Draco acquiesced, which is how he found himself detained, sedated, and traveling by ship to the Dragon Sanctuary in Romania.

§§§§

The voyage was excruciating in many ways. To begin with, the bumbling Aurors, as Draco was now wont to call Potter and Weasley, had not only tied him up and placed a rather tight muzzle upon him, but they also were compelled to tranquilize him. The first time he awoke, sluggish and sore, he noticed the cage, which was entirely too small for his liking; no consideration had been made for his wings to stretch out. Still, Draco maintained his best behavior while in their presence, never snorting out fire at any passengers, and protesting only slightly when the food provided for him was less than satisfactory. Always in the front of his mind were two vague hopes: That perhaps this sanctuary would possibly understand his predicament better than the bumbling Gryffindors had, or, even better, that the swot would be among them and brilliant enough to correct him. Most of his eggs were kept in her basket, so to speak, and he refused to consider the possibility that Granger could be inept.

Days upon end, the ship slowly made its way towards Romania. Draco could hardly recall a more dreadful, never-ending journey, but whether it was due to the continual sedation liberally supplied to him, or the drifting sensation as they coursed through the air, roiling among the clouds worse than had they actually gone by sea, he could not say. When he was feeling out of sorts, he blamed it on the limited, asinine company. Eventually, they had arrived in Romania and soon were escorted to the Dragon Sanctuary, greeted by one of the Weasley brood.

It was a reunion to turn the staunchest stomach. He had no idea just how long it had been since the brothers had seen one another, but he did wonder exactly what sort of relationship they had, greeting each other so … fervently. His father had always told him to avoid the Weasleys, and he had assumed it had been because of their low quality or because they were blood traitors, but now he wondered if his father knew something worse, something one does not speak of, even among equals. 

During all of this, Draco had been left behind on the ship, his crate apparently forgotten. It was ludicrous. Was he not the reason they had to make such a tedious journey? Typical, he thought with a snort. As he lay in his cage, his wings shifted slightly, pressing against the bars. He ached terribly. The bastards had not let him out of his cage throughout the entire voyage and he past much time fantasizing how he would like to see them in a cage barely large enough to turn around in. Honestly, were they all inbred and ignorant? Draco’s horned tail swatted against his cage, drawing their attention at last.

He watched all three men as their greeting eventually ended and they began to walk back towards the ship. Weasley, the stout one, Charlie, he assumed, gave the order for his crate to be deposited. Draco was tense until he was on solid ground. However, his tension quickly returned as they approached.

Charlie Weasley was much older than he, and he only knew the man in a very general sense. He was stockier than any other Weasley Draco knew, every visible inch of skin covered in those dreadful freckles and topped with the same ginger hair, although his was much neater than his brother’s. Draco did not like him at all. Charlie smiled up at him and said, “He’s an absolutely beautiful Common Welsh Green!”

_Common? Did that_ Weasley _call _me_ common? How dare he…!_

It was difficult to bluster in such a confined space, but Draco somehow managed, rocking his cage back and forth and snorting out two short bouts of fire through his nostrils. It was the first time he had given into his anger in such a display since conceding to this ridiculous plan. Both Potter and the younger Weasley stepped back, but not the older one. His grin grew wider still and he daringly reached out to touch the bars. It took a bit of restraint to not snap his jaws at the man for such audacity.

Charlie clapped his arms around Draco’s former classmates’ shoulders and led them away as the crew followed orders for transferring Draco. His temper was quickly dispelled when one of the squibs tranquilized him and he slept for some time.

§§§§

The sanctuary was not anything like what he had expected. Throughout his voyage, he had imagined endless rows of stark, cold cages reeking of feces and death, mad healers performing heinous experiments on dragons who were slowly dying. Draco’s throat would tighten in anticipation of a collar so constrictive that it burrowed into his hide, making it nearly impossible to swallow.

He imagined his wings would be clipped, if not completely removed from his back. These were not the worst he could have imagined, thankfully, for he had survived much, much worse leading up to and during the Second Wizarding War. However it was enough to cause many restless nights and fitful dreams through sedation. Ultimately, he was surprised, pleasantly so, by what was actually happening in Romania, although he would not admit it even if he were able. The entire operation was led by some of the most genial, most revolting people he had ever met; a mix of healers, trainers, and even several squibs who undertook the menial work, like feeding the dragons and the humans. Draco wondered if there were any house-elves at the sanctuary. If there were, they were doing an exemplary job because no evidence existed.

After a short while, when his irrational fears had been quelled, Draco decided that from the little he had seen of Romania, he was not very impressed. The sanctuary was located within the Carpathian Mountains, in an isolated and Muggle-secure area where wizards and witches wandered about among some of the scariest beasts Draco had ever seen. 

Each dragon at the sanctuary had been tagged, either during initial processing or shortly after birth, he noticed. These tags, as he understood it, were capable of monitoring not only his whereabouts, but also helped to detain him within the boundaries of the sanctuary. They could also, somehow, assist the dragon healers with monitoring his health status. Unfortunately, whenever the healers made their regularly scheduled evaluations of his health, they never indicated anything peculiar about Draco, anything at all that alerted them that he was not as he seemed. This went a great way in determining how much Draco disrespected them all.

No one there had any idea whatsoever that he was different, which annoyed the hell out of him. Early on, he considered attempting to communicate with the wizards like he had Potter and Weasley, but something always prevented either them from seeing his message or Draco from actually forming the words. 

The frustration and disappointment was a vicious circle that left him very depressed, which then worried the healers about his general health. Because of this, Draco remained separated from most of the other dragons, to his great relief. Had he been a man, he would never admit to being afraid of the dragons at the sanctuary. However, as a dragon, he readily showed discomfort and even occasionally agitation whenever another dragon came too close. 

Out of all the wizards and healers, Charlie Weasley, not surprisingly, was the most sympathetic. Charlie arranged for Draco to have his own stable away from the others, especially the others of his breed. The first few nights at the sanctuary had been nightmarish for Draco. He had woken from his anesthetized state to find himself surrounded by three male Welsh Greens, their shoulders hunched up, clawing at the ground before them. 

They were challenging Draco, he understood that, and he accepted. Granted, he had always been afraid of dragons, yet was he not a dragon himself? And a wizard, to boot. Surely he could take them on, and then he would be alpha of the sanctuary. He tamped down the small fear in the back of his head that they were _real_ dragons. Arrogantly he accepted the challenge.

When the two flanking beasts created a diversion from both sides simultaneously, successfully distracting Draco, the central dragon, the leader, attacked from the front. Fear dominated Draco and he was so frightened that he wet himself. There was a brief moment when the three knew what he had done and paused, assessing him, and Draco swallowed his shame and hoped that they would decide he was not worth their attention after all. 

He had been wrong. 

Witches and wizards came running at the commotion in the stable and used their magic to restrain the attacking Welshes, but not before they had demonstrated their power and dominance over Draco. 

He had been in recovery for many days following, and his various wounds and burns took some time to heal completely, which was his initial excuse for seclusion. But it was Charlie who had taken a special interest in Draco and continued to protect him from his supposedly own kind. For those kindnesses, even a Weasley deserved a proper thank you, even if Draco was unable to say it. The idea that Draco was not superior to anyone or anything was a very hard notion to accept. All of his life, Draco had rarely been denied. He had had every indulgence imaginable once he was an adult, a compensation he felt was deserved after all the humiliations of his school days and the duress of the Second Wizarding War, and nobody batted an eye. Yet here he was, the lowest, most pathetic creature, suffering at the claws and teeth of greater beasts and entirely dependent on a wizard he had grown up believing was no better than a beggar. 

It was very humbling, to say the least.

While living at the sanctuary, Draco was given shelter and food far better than he had managed to supply for himself. His favorite meals consisted of lamb and sturgeon and once a month he was given whisky to drink. For the life of him, he could not imagine why any sensible witch or wizard would allow a dragon capable of breathing fire alcohol, but he enjoyed it all the same. More than anything, Draco was thankful that all of the dragons were allowed to fly. Flying, the one activity that alleviated all of his fears, his worries, lifted his heart and made him feel like a man once again. He spent more time soaring over the mountains, disappearing into the clouds, and coasting just feet above the Danube than he did anywhere else within the sanctuary. No one tried to ride him or tried to stop him whenever he ached to fly. Flying was his escape and, sometimes, for possibly a minute or two, Draco believed that he had been born to be a dragon.

§§§§

As time went by, Romania became beautiful in his eyes, like the longed-for spring after a dreadful winter. The isolation of the mountains and the plain was a balm to Draco’s soul, but no matter how much time had passed, he still yearned for his own body. His dreams were beginning to change, no longer featuring his familiar self but rather scales and horns and fire, so much fire and smoke. He worried that he would one day completely forget his life from before, and he worried more when a small part of him questioned if that was a bad thing.

§§§§

Draco was waiting patiently within his private paddock as a healer made her assessment of his health. This activity was always quite an experience for the healers, since he never refused their prodding and poking, like the other dragons did. They were often sedated and caged for the process, but not Draco. The healers merely tethered him down in one spot, comfortably, and proceeded to examine him as they saw fit. Surreptitiously, he tried to read the notes her Quick Quotes Quill jotted down, but was, for the most part, unsuccessful. No matter. He knew he was perfectly healthy, if quite obviously odd for his breed.

When she had finished and released his chain, he shook his limbs loose a bit before sauntering back towards his own stable, eagerly anticipating what his lunch would be. His nostrils fluttered. There was a new scent on the wind, faintly floral but mostly reminiscent of parchment and ink. His wing claws clattered together anxiously as he padded back the way he had come, around the general stables and towards the main building. 

He heard Charlie’s deep yet pleasant laugh before he finally saw him, and he happened to be greeting a new arrival. This was somewhat rare. Not very often did wizards visit the sanctuary; usually they had to have been invited for a very special event or unique instance. The Dragon Sanctuary in Romania was not a theme park attraction, for Merlin’s sake. But here was someone whom Draco could not think had reason to be here, but was overjoyed to see all the same.

Hermione Granger’s laughter pealed through the plain as Charlie lifted her off her two feet in a giant hug. She was here, at last. Eager, but not wanting to seem too eager, Draco trotted off towards the still laughing pair, listening.

“I didn’t think you were going to come down ‘til next month.”

“I wasn’t, but I managed to finish up my assignment early and, well, here I am!” Granger shaded her eyes against the noonday sunlight. Draco had not seen her since those final hours after Lord Voldemort had been defeated. Then, she had been scrawny and bedraggled, looking the worst he had ever recalled seeing her. He knew she and her friends had been on the run, in hiding, that year; had seen her at his house, even. That was a memory he had spent galleons and galleons to try to erase forever from his memory.

Today, however, she looked much better. Her wild hair had been controlled and plaited down her back. She was dressed comfortably for the climate, with a small rucksack on the ground next to where Charlie set her back down. He kept his hand on her hips. Draco snorted smoke. He stopped several metres back and continued to listen as they briefly caught up with each other. Weasley was a handful of years older than both he and Granger. How, and when, had they become such good friends?

The pair turned away from Draco, heading into the main building where the wizards and witches stayed, until Granger suddenly stopped and turned back to retrieve her forgotten bag. She immediately caught sight of him and froze. Within his chest, Draco felt the staccato beats of his heart and his breath also cut short. 

Did she remember him? Did she remember how cruel he had been to her when they were just children? Did she hold it against him still? Or did she recall how he did _nothing_ to help her as he watched his aunt torture her? Is that what she saw when she looked at him?

Rucksack forgotten once more, Granger slowly approached Draco, her head tipped forward slightly. Behind her, Charlie turned to see what kept her and noticed what was happening. He kept his distance but followed. 

Draco nervously swallowed, unsure of himself. He glanced about the ground around him, looking for what to say to her when she would, at last, stand before him expectantly. Too soon the moment came, and still he hadn’t a clue how to answer for his past crimes. He looked up at her.

Granger stood there for second before bowing grandly, keeping her eyes on his. Draco huffed. He had forgotten who, or what, he was. He reciprocated the gesture, conveying the only way he knew how, that it was all right for her to approach. Inside, he felt like such a fool. How could he have forgotten?

“Careful, Hermione,” Charlie intoned behind her. Did he really think, after all this time, that he would hurt her? Perhaps Charlie did not know who he really was, but Draco was damned certain that he’d demonstrated time after time that he was not aggressive like the others. Charlie’s flippant warning mildly offended him, but Granger seemed to have paid him no mind. When she stood up fully, she reached out her right hand slowly, placatingly. 

When the tips of her fingers had barely touched Draco’s snout, he closed his eyes. Her magic tingled from her fingers and sent a tiny charge through to his little ears. 

“Did,” Granger began, turning her head back a bit towards Charlie. “Did he just _purr_?” She asked incredulously. Draco’s eyes snapped open and he took a step back. _What? I don’t_ purr _!_ He startled Granger and her hand dropped away and Charlie was suddenly there, his hands braced against her shoulders, protecting her if necessary. 

Draco rolled his eyes. Hermione blinked, her mouth falling open, but soon the nuance was forgotten, and the two humans resumed their previous conversation while walking away. Draco stood where they left him, his eyes never leaving Granger’s plait as it swished across her back much like a tail.

§§§§

Several hours later, when most of the dragons had been rounded up, enticed or urged back into their stables for the night, Draco was still lurking about the main building. If he sat back on his hind legs and craned his very long neck, he could nearly see directly into the windows on the third storey, but for now he was satisfied with what was happening on the ground floor. Here is where he found Granger and Charlie finishing their supper and drinking coffee afterwards.

Draco had not skulked around this building since the early days of his transition, and he had only once before been seen and lead back. But tonight was important. He had to know what brought Granger here and, more importantly, how long she intended to stay. She was still his best hope for salvation. 

He watched as they sat facing each other, Charlie sitting back from the table with a hand resting on his stomach. Granger quirked an eyebrow at something he said and then both laughed. The horns above Draco’s eyes bristled. It was quite obvious how friendly and comfortable they were with one another, but something else was there, too, just beneath the surface. He watched at Charlie’s gaze remained on Granger even after she had stopped laughing and had scooted her chair back, readying to take her leave for the night, likely. Charlie stood with her and escorted her out of the room, his hand poised above the small of her back the entire walk. The twin streams of smoke that curled up from his nostrils were beyond his control.

Draco padded backwards awkwardly, eyeing the first and second levels for any indication and soon was rewarded by a light on the far end. As quietly as possible, he made his way in that direction. It was Granger and she was, thankfully, alone. Draco blinked, wondering where that relief had come from as he watched her unpack her things carefully. After a short while, he grew tired and bored and decided to return to his own quarters. There was, after all, always tomorrow.

§§§§

Granger did not seem to have any real reason or purpose for her visit to the sanctuary, other than her personal connection to every Weasley ever spawned. She flitted from healers to feeders, from wizards to squibs, friendly to each no matter who they were or their station. He did notice, however, that she seemed very interested in the dragons yet never approached them. He wanted to laugh, knowing that the brave little Gryffindor actually was afraid of something, but he didn’t. And wherever Granger was, Charlie wasn’t far behind. Soon Draco caught on to the looks they gave each other when they thought the other wasn’t watching, which weren’t half as disgusting as when they _were_ watching. Frankly, it churned his stomach.

_For Merlin’s sake, was there any single Weasley man Granger wasn’t apparently in love with?_

Whatever her … love life… was, Draco shuddered, he needed her help. She was the only witch capable of reversing whatever had caused this horrific transformation. But how was he to engage her? They had shared a very odd, very promising moment after she first arrived, but he had not come into contact with her since that day. Instead, Draco spent what free time was allotted him in his paddock, somewhat hidden near the stable wall, practicing his writing. The disastrous attempt with Potter and Weasley he chalked up to his lack of practice. His mind was agile – he could remember practically everything he had learned in school. Well, the non-boring or useless bits, of course, but for some reason, whenever he tried to claw words, even simple things, words even the dumbest Hufflepuff could spell, he was at a loss.

At first, he blamed in on the claws. These ghastly hands were not intended to write, obviously, but even folding back the superfluous digits was a struggle. And what little he managed to write was wiped out the next instant by his hand. Draco had never before hated being left handed. So he tried with his right instead. He snorted and growled every time a letter was too sloppy or incomplete. Draco seemed to have better luck sticking with single, small words, words consisting of straight lines. It was all together depressing when he could not, despite innumerous attempts, manage to spell his own name. To say he was frustrated would be a blatant understatement. 

From behind him came footsteps through the hay and Draco quickly stomped out his pitiful efforts. He did not turn to face whoever was approaching but rather, nonchalantly, began to walk forward as well, hoping to turn the corner without being seen.

“Now, I know you’re…hesitant,” Charlie spoke softly, stopping Draco in his escape. “To see most of the dragons. And I’m not going to pressure you, not really. But this one… well, he’s different, you see?” Draco did not need to turn their way; he recognized her scent even before Weasley spoke. Still, he did not want to see her with _him_.

He expected to hear her quiet protest, as he had heard before, but she said nothing. Draco couldn’t move and then suddenly the two people he both desired and loathed to see were less than a dozen metres away from him, bowing. He refused to be placated, though. Involuntarily, his right hand clawed at the ground as his tail lightly whipped high above, evenly with his enormous head. 

Charlie was whispering so lowly to his _friend_ that it irked Draco even further to not be able to hear as well. No matter. Whatever he was saying, Granger apparently was not listening. Instead, she remained bowed, awaiting Draco’s acceptance. Begrudgingly, he gave it and she smiled. As crazy as it seemed, Draco thought he felt warmth flood his face and his eyes broke from hers. She took the opportunity to advance, surprising both he and Charlie. How was it that she was terrified of all of the others dragons here but him, Draco wondered.

Slowly, very slowly, she approached him, her hand outstretched, just like before. This time, he resolved, he would not jerk away, would not _purr_ when…if she touched him. This time he would keep his eyes on her and would pray to whatever deity was watching for guidance. He needed her, and if allowing her to pet him like a blasted house cat was what it took, then so be it.

Her touch was gentle, hesitant, and then it grew more confident as Draco remained still. Her hand cupped his lower jaw, slowly moving its way up towards his eyes, which hovered near closing. Her mouth was hanging open in an uncivilized manner, but she did not seem to notice or care. Instead, she was fixated on his eyes. He could not break her gaze, either, hypnotized by the small flecks of green he found within her large brown eyes. 

Granger blushed. “How odd,” she said, removing her hand, which he missed immediately. “I thought Common Welsh Greens had golden eyes.”

It was not a question, but Charlie was compelled to answer anyway. “Absolutely right, Hermione. In all my years working with dragons, this is the first of his breed I’ve seen with such unusual grey eyes, almost mercurial.”

“Fascinating,” she whispered, stepping even closer. Draco’s mouth cracked open so he could breathe, suddenly worried that he might accidentally emit fire otherwise. He couldn’t blink, her gaze was so deep, so soothing. Looking into her eyes, he was reminded of how large and somewhat frightened they had been the night of the Yule Ball, a lifetime ago. As she walked into the transformed Great Hall on the arm of Viktor Krum, she was a beautiful sight, especially for a Mudblood, all smiles, but her eyes. Her eyes conveyed just how nervous she was, almost like she was now. Draco lingered on the memory of that night and how difficult as it was to deny, even to himself, how stunning she looked.

With a jerk, Granger broke their gaze and stumbled back, panting. Her reaction was contagious and Draco also cantered back a bit, hitting the stable wall behind him, startling himself. In a flash, Charlie was there, holding Granger in his arms. Draco’s eyes fell into slits and a light growl emanated from within. He was asking how she was but she was not answering, one hand on her chest, and the other flat against her forehead. She was sweating, he noticed. Charlie whistled and a nearby Squib appeared and lead Draco out of the paddock. Once or twice, he looked back at the pair. Granger had recovered and looked to be assuring Charlie she was all right, but when he looked a second time, she was already watching him, her head cocked to the side as though puzzled.

§§§§

All that night, Draco revisited their encounter in the paddock, whatever it was. How had that happened? Was she a Legilimens? Could she be? Or did he only just assume that she had seen what memory had passed before his own eyes? Was it even possible, Draco wondered, for him to transpose a memory into _her_ mind?

Draco had had some training in Legilimency and Occlumency years before, back during his summer between sixth and seventh year, but he had never been good enough at it to please his father, his instructor. Still, had he retained some of that skill, or had Granger invaded his privacy? And why did she not say anything to Charlie?

Perhaps she had, he decided. Once they were _alone together_. Draco sulked, small dark puffs of smoke pluming up around his eyes. For a moment or two he dwelled on their closeness, for lack of a better word. Seeing them as they had been these past few days, it was difficult not to suspect they were, indeed, lovers. Draco himself had had less familiarity with women with whom he had shared his bed, yet something bothered him about _them_. Were they a _them_? 

He stood up and circled his small stable. Whether Granger was a whore for Weasleys or not, he still believed she held the key to his undoing, or rather, his renewing. Whatever that was that happened between them in the paddock today was proof enough, no matter who caused it. Now he had to make it happen again.

§§§§

The next afternoon, he saw her again. She was on her own, surprisingly, and seemed to be coming directly towards Draco. He stopped eating to gape at her unswerving approach. It amazed him how, just days ago, she was fearful; now she resembled the foolish Gryffindor she once was. Before long, she was bowing before him, her eyes locked on his. Draco returned the gesture offhandedly, but she did not touch him nor step any closer. It was then he realized what was dangling out of his mouth, between his deadly jaws. Turning slightly, Draco stretched his long neck out, threw his head back, and swallowed the lamb. His tongue slithered out between, licking all around for any blood and such before he met her.

She waited patiently.

Confident he was presentable, Draco looked down at Granger. Now what? Granger stood there, her eyes squinting from the bright sun, and never looked away. Blinking was never an option. It took him several seconds to realize what exactly she was looking for. He concentrated on what his father had taught him so many years before, but wavered between trying to let her in or push himself inside her. When nothing came of their efforts after five minutes, Granger sighed and stepped away. 

Dismayed but not completely discouraged, he watched as she plopped herself down onto the grass, cross-legged. Her brow was furrowed and her lips were squished together, jutting out from where her hand held up her head. Draco wanted to laugh at her, but dragons cannot laugh. He watched her until his stomach growled. The noise startled her and suddenly she seemed afraid of him again. 

There was no sense in wearing kids’ gloves anymore. He was a dragon, for Merlin’s sake, and he had to eat. Besides, she was the one interrupting his supper with her failures as a witch. Draco returned to his trough without her permission. He expected to see her stomping off back towards the humans any second, but it never happened. Although he knew she was sitting behind him, quite possibly watching him eat, he tried to not let it affect him. But then he imagined what the view must be like – watching a hideous monster gorging himself on raw meat, meat that in no way disguised what it used to be. The slurping noises when he sucked up the juices. How his sharp teeth snapped the bones into bits, the crunching noise they made, not to mention his own noises of delight. 

All of a sudden, the lamb was not so tasty.

His long neck swung around to look at her under his wing. Yes, she was still sitting there, staring at him. It was reminiscent of their days in Arithmancy, when Professor Vector charmed a particularly difficult problem on the board, and how Granger would glower. That was the only class he had ever shared with her during which the answers did not immediately come for her, it seemed. He liked Arithmancy for that reason alone. Granger was less annoying, then. Without realizing it at first, Draco’s wings were twitching, and his tail was swishing across the ground in irritation. She just continued to stare.

When finally Draco had had enough and was one large step from leaving her to it, she spoke. “You know,” she began, conversationally, as though he had been waiting all that time for her to finally say what she was about to say. Perhaps he had been. “Charlie says you’re not like the others, and it’s true. You’re rather…”

Draco hung on her sentence expectantly.

“Odd,” she finished. He huffed in return. “I’ve faced dragons before, you know.” Was she challenging him? Draco would have smirked if he could. “Much scarier than you… when I was a girl. There was this time, when I was eighteen, that my best friends and I freed a blind dragon from the bowels of Gringotts.”

His tail stopped swishing. She remained seated on the ground and told him her tale, about how the three of them, while on the run from the Dark Lord, he knew but she did not say, ended up in the most highly guarded bank in the Wizarding world and managed to not only steal into the Lestrange vault, but robbed it and fought their way out again while riding the infamous dragon within. It was not long before Draco was utterly mesmerized by her story, lying down next to her in the hot sun. 

Had he been human, Draco never would have listened to anything she had to say. She was a Mudblood, after all, and obnoxious, to say the least. But her storytelling was enthralling. All through their years at Hogwarts he hated the three friends. He knew the kind of trouble they managed to get into, dilemma that had any other student found himself in would have been expelled or possibly killed, yet they _always_ came out on top. Listening to her story, though, showed him a version he had never heard before. Listening to her talk was soothing, and the afternoon slowly passed by.

Granger was just beginning to tell him what she remembered about her adventure in the Black Lake when Charlie arrived. Granger did not notice at first because, somehow, Draco had lain himself around her, blocking her view of anything else, but when at last she heard him call to her, she reluctantly stood up. Granger wiped her hands across her backside and looked anywhere but at either of them, then finally she met Draco’s gaze. “Well… goodnight.” 

And she was gone.

Draco asked himself many times that night what exactly had happened, and he could never fully figure it out. After some internal debate, he decided it had been the heat affecting them both. Why else would he have stuck around? He refused to admit that he had, in fact, curled up around her, listening intently as she spun him stories from their childhood. It was no surprise that she did that, he reasoned, because shutting Granger up once she started was on the level of a Herculean task, and unless he burnt her to a crisp, there was nothing he could have done but listened. Yes, that had to have been it.

Even so, very late into the night, Draco remained awake, practicing his claw writing.

§§§§

The morning arrived in the usual manner: with a squib delivering a moderate selection of greens for starters, followed by an assortment of wizards who would talk down to him for an hour or so each day, and then there was his customary weekly examination by one of the healers. That was usually where he noticed a difference between himself and the other dragons. Once he was fed, bored, and checked, he was allowed to wander the designated areas of the sanctuary, which he did as often as he could, taking full advantage of the time that the others were preoccupied. Sometimes he would watch as dragons were detained if they were too aggressive, either to each other or to a wizard, which was always worse.

But his treatment was noticeably different, and although not at first anything that concerned him, it did now. Why was he being treated like the younger dragons, or like one of the injured ones, he wondered. Only the dragons with severe injuries or maladies spent as much time with the healers as Draco did, and he wondered what was wrong with him, besides the obvious.

Why wasn’t he forced to spend time with his own breed, rather than the solitary confinement he suffered? Draco also noticed that besides the usual wizards and squib who attended to him, Charlie Weasley was the only other person who ever approached him. A mixture of fear and distrust rumbled within, yet before he could ponder the reason behind it any further, he saw her walking some distance away. With Charlie, naturally.

Seeing the pair together only needled him further. They were walking side by side, their hands occasionally touching. Judging from Weasley’s slow gait and the curve of his fingers, he was _trying_ to catch her hand. The claws on both his hand and feet dug deep into the hard earth, gouging the ground. Draco’s eyes narrowed into slits as they kept on, neither looking his way. 

A Malfoy is never ignored.

His first thought was to chase after them. Why not? He had free reign of the sanctuary, did he not? Then another thought came to him: Granger wanted Charlie. How could he have forgotten? One measly chat and, what, he was jealous? Hardly. Weasley kept him prisoner here, worse than the other damnable creatures he hated so much. And what was her role, he had yet to discover. If she was just here to shag the bastard, he wished she would get it over with and go back to wherever the devil she’d come. 

However, a small, very small part of him clung to his hope. They had a connection, albeit brief and so far unrepeatable, but it was real. He just did not know what had caused it or which one of them had done it. After several metres were between them, he followed the lovebirds.

Charlie was showing Granger around the outskirts of the sanctuary, through the rolling green hills of Romania, looking down upon the small villages of Wizarding folk. Draco could not hear everything he said to her, but he could easily discern her laughter whenever it bubbled from her throat. Judging by where he pointed, Draco guessed the things he was telling her, about the Muggles who lived on the Transylvania plain, or how the Danube was a vital asset to the sanctuary, providing food, water, and above all, a natural barrier to prevent the stupid Muggles from waltzing in. So perhaps those weren’t the exact descriptions he would use, but the point was the same. 

As they walked on and on, Draco grew tired and hungry again. They still had not noticed him trailing them, and he considered flying back. It had been days since he’d flown and the idea grew more appealing as the sun rose further into the sky. Draco failed to see when they had stopped and were preparing to eat a picnic on the slight slope. Typical romantic tripe. This, then, was his cue to dismiss himself, thankful that they had not actually seen him. As he turned around in a broad circle, his wings stretching in preparation, he heard her call out to him.

For a second or two, he considered ignoring her. He was a dragon, after all, not a dog. How dare she try to treat him as such? He glanced back over his shoulder and saw the darkened face of Charlie and wanted to smile. Cheerfully, he trotted back towards the reclining woman.

Charlie said nothing, but it was quite evident that he disapproved of this change in company. Surreptitiously he repacked the meat he had brought for just the two of them. Draco snuffed. He could care less about such trifles. Granger, however, was all smiles, shielding her eyes from the sun. Freckles were beginning to pop out all over her exposed skin, making her look more and more like a Weasley. Having come when called, Draco now stood there, unsure of himself, but Granger merely patted the ground beside her. Refusing to be completely obedient, Draco turned in a circle or two before finally folding himself down on the ground, his shoulders hunching and his hands curling inward toward his chest. 

A few awkward seconds passed as Charlie eyed the unusual dragon who had not only followed them several kilometres away from the paddocks but who seemed well at ease sitting among humans, giving no sign of threat other than an occasional grunt. Hermione reached into the charmed basket they had brought with them and retrieved an apple. She eyed it for a moment before gleefully tossing it towards Draco. “No, no,” Charlie said. “Dragons don’t really…”

To his utter surprise, the dragon chomped down the apple without even sniffing it first. Shocked, Charlie watched as she fed him another and another until all the apples were gone, then she turned to Charlie and continued their previous conversation, as though nothing strange was going on. He smiled. The more he got to know Hermione Granger, the more he truly was amazed by her. She would make a wonderful permanent addition to Romania, he was certain.

An hour longer passed before Charlie announced it was time for them to return, that he, unfortunately, had much paperwork to do. Granger was still holding the dragon’s eye, neither of them seemingly hearing him speak, and so he repeated himself. Granger scuttled where she sat for a moment, then reluctantly rose, as did the dragon, which stretched so much like a man it was uncanny. His twitching wings drew her full attention again and she asked, “Can you fly?”

Charlie blinked at her choice of address, and hurriedly answered that his breed could indeed. 

“I’ve always been terrified of flying, especially on Thestrals.” The dragon cocked his head, mimicking Charlie, it appeared. He was quite odd. He was thinking of how to reply to such a claim, when without warning, the dragon galloped towards them both. Charlie drew his wand in a flash, prepared to stun the beast if necessary, but he was too late. Before his wand was even unsheathed, he had plunged his long neck between her legs as she bent over, retrieving their things, and whisked her off at full speed. Charlie dared not shoot now, not even to stun, for fear he might endanger Hermione. Instead, did his best to chase after them, her screams echoing down the valley. Then suddenly, her screams stopped and he could have sworn her heard her whoop!

_Whoop?_

The Welsh Green had built enough momentum to raise them both up into the brilliant blue sky and began gliding, never climbing higher than a Quidditch goal line, swooping down low only to accelerate back up again. Charlie smiled. “I’ll be damned.” A moment later, he gathered their belongings and stood up again, still able to see them flying in large circles and sharp turns. Ducking his head before shaking it, Charlie withdrew his wand once more and shot off his Patronus, which was, naturally, a miniature Greyling, before heading back alone.

Granger clung to the horns trailing down Draco’s neck, still too frightened to either wrap her arms about his neck or to let go, even for a second, but she was enjoying herself. Compared to their radical escape from Gringotts, this ride was practically exhilarating and without the fear of horrific death. From out of nowhere, a silvery smoke dragon appeared before her and, borrowing Charlie’s voice, informed her he was headed back to the main building and to be extremely careful. Nothing more. 

She smiled at his warning, but used her heels to urge the dragon higher and faster.

Draco always felt his best, like his old self, whenever he flew. It was the most natural thing for him, and as Granger clung to his neck, her occasional laughter and whoops of excitement trilling around his small ears, he grew bolder, flying faster than before, diving sharply only to straighten at the seemingly last instant. Sometimes she screamed, and sometimes she clung harder, burrowing her face against his hide. 

The sun was falling slowly behind the mountains, beyond the barrier of the sanctuary, and he knew that Granger would soon get cold, so he began his descent. As they came closer and closer to the meadow he had found, her grip loosened and he regretted the intimacy and trust of her touch. Soon, they were safely back on earth and she slid from his back, leaving a tingling trail of her magic down his hide.

She wasn’t the least bit tired, he could tell from her laughter and bright cheeks and eyes. Her exuberance was enchanting. Granger was talking to herself so quickly, it was difficult to make out much more than a few words, here and there. Draco knew that taking her flying was exactly what she needed, what they both needed.

Granger spun herself about and dropped down onto a bed of clover, her limbs akimbo. Draco snorted and sat back on his haunches to watch her. The russet color of her curls was offset by the luscious greenery surrounding her. The sun was nearly completely down by this time, and he knew that even though they were within the boundaries of the sanctuary, and were even within sight of the main building, that they had to get back. Weasley would be worried about her.

He nudged her foot with the tip of his nose and it merely rolled with the pressure, so he did it again, much harder, and she sat up, laughing. “I’ve had the best time,” she said. Without the slightest hesitation, she petted his nose kindly. Granger had decided to trust him wholeheartedly, apparently, and Draco was equal parts thrilled and apprehensive. 

They stared at each other for a moment longer and then Granger groaned, stood up, and lead the way back. Draco trotted next to her. It was a short walk during twilight and the candle light shining from the sanctuary windows was beautiful and inviting. And Draco wanted so desperately to be a man once more, to never again have to sleep in a stable, in the cold. But she turned away from her building and together they walked towards the dragon paddocks.

During his short time here, this was an area Draco had not visited, where the expectant mothers were housed. If he had been here before, he would have anticipated what was lurking in the shadows behind the bars, watching, and waiting. From out of the darkness charged a fiery red and gold dragon, screeching with all her might. Granger screamed and jumped back against Draco, who awkwardly curled his arm around her, dragging her to his other side right away. The mother snarled and beat her wings against the bars, anxious to tear them apart. Draco responded with only a tremendous roar. Their howls set off the other dragons nearby and, thankfully, alerted some caretakers, who were running towards them. Draco continued to snarl back at the offensive female, who kept her nesting eggs always directly behind her as she screeched.

“Come on,” Granger urged him, and he stood down, allowing the humans to settle their wards. What was at first a wonderful ending to a nearly perfect outing had ended disastrously. In the back of his mind, though, Draco was relieved that that dragon was incapable of breathing fire. It occurred to him, then, that he could have hurt someone had he given in to his unnatural instincts. A shudder ran through his wings.

Finally, they were back at his stable, where a squib was waiting nearby to help Draco settle in for the evening, but Granger stayed next to him, as though wanting to say something. He waited patiently. She looked remorsefully down at his tag, unable to read it and said, “You know, you have eyes just like a boy I used to know.” Draco stared down at her, his heart stopping. Granger took a step away, breaking away from the tag to meet his wide-eyed stare, smirking. “So I think I’ll call you… Draco.”

§§§§

Charlie Weasley was not an unreasonable man.

Ever since he was a child, he had been devoted to magical creatures’ welfare, taking extra courses to increase his knowledge and passion, and spent as much time as was possible assisting Hagrid as he rehabilitated injured animals and creatures within the Dark Forest. Charlie loved the life he had made for himself in Romania, despite being so far from his family. Occasionally, he found reason to visit them in England, or less frequently, they came to him, but Romania was his home now. He felt invigorated every morning he woke up here at the dragon sanctuary, as though his life had finally found a purpose. 

Satisfying, he would call it, if sometimes lonely. 

Charlie glanced out his office window towards the nearest stables and thought about the newest addition to their family. There was no need to read through his file; by now he had memorized it, the accounts given by his brother and Harry Potter on the poor dragon’s living conditions. He knew his current health ratings, too, but most of all, Charlie was disturbed by his inability to acclimate. Despite many attempts to introduce him to any other dragon, even those outside of his species, he was shunned and often assaulted. One of the trainers had even attempted to breed the new Welsh, but he show absolutely no interest in entering the pen, and when, at last, several wizards has physically maneuvered him within, the female went ballistic. It was all very perplexing, and Charlie feared for the animal’s survival.

Oddly enough, the Welsh was willing to spend time with the people here at the sanctuary, Hermione and himself, especially. Charlie smiled. Hermione Granger was a wonder. She was brilliant and effervescent, a true benefit to everyone here, willing to share her extensive knowledge and assist wherever she might. He was very impressed with her abilities. Actually, if Charlie were completely honest with himself, he was rather taken with the younger witch.

§§§§

The following days seemed to flow together, seamless, full of exhaustion and small triumphs. Every day Granger came to visit with Draco, feeding him contraband from the kitchens, whispering adventures she had had with her friends and flying, flying as often as they could. Often Charlie would show up and drag her away, but occasionally he would join them in the paddock or out in the meadow. But it was quite obvious that Draco was opposed to Charlie flying with them, and after the second failed attempt, he never suggested it again.

During the dead of night, Draco would practice writing, hoping to tell Granger who he really was, but he was never very successful. He grew frustrated, so much so that he deliberately ignored Granger as she tempted him with Yorkshire pudding. Although it smelled delicious and it happened to be a favorite of his, he was too angry to acknowledge her – angry at himself, at whomever had done this to him, for he was certain it was no accident. And even angry at her. Why was she so obtuse? He glared at her harshly, willing her to go away, to run back to her lover and pester him awhile. 

Granger laughed. “Charlie’s not my lover!”

Draco blinked, all the anger washing away from him in an instant. She was still standing there, her mouth no longer laughing but hanging open in shock. “Did you…?” Draco scurried over towards her and she took two reflexive steps back before stopping, shock evident on her face.  
 _She heard me. I spoke to her. I haven’t lost my magic after all._

Frantically he tried again to send a message to her, but either he was unsuccessful or she was blocking him. Still, he was not discouraged. Granger entered his stall and shut the door behind her, a grim, determined look on her face. “Let’s just…be logical about this,” she said, folding her hands under her chin. “Ordinarily, dragons cannot speak, nor can they read minds. Or I suppose, have me read _your_ mind,” she corrected herself. 

Granger began pacing the large stall all the while Draco continued to stare at her, his large grey eyes bigger than galleons. How had he managed it? What exactly had he done, and could he do it again? With tremendous concentration, he ignored Granger as she prattled on to herself about the possibilities that she had taken in too much sun, and he tried to tell her his name. _I’m Draco. Draco. Draco…_ But nothing happened. She flopped down across from him and rested her chin on her fist, her brows furrowed in thought. Draco too was thinking. He had been very angry at her – perhaps that was the key, anger? 

It was his turn to pace about the stall, which, unfortunately, was barely large enough for a dragon to turn around in. Granger was quickly displaced, shuttled back against the stall door as he picked up speed. Angry. So many things made him angry, always had: stupid, little things that were truly trivial compared to the mess his life was now. This was not the first time Draco thought back on his life with remorse over his behavior, but moping over that now unacceptable. He thought long and hard about what genuinely angered him, what injustices he had suffered in his life and who was to blame.

Potter, although first to come to mind, was insufficient. He did try, though, to think about Potter and force Granger to understand, but ultimately he tossed Potter aside. He was insignificant. 

Draco abruptly stopped along with his heart. The Dark Lord. Every horrible thing done to him in his life could easily be laid at the door of Lord Voldemort – the death of his parents by rogue Death Eaters years after the Second Wizarding War… the fact that there even were two wars, both of which destroyed his relationship with his father and forced Draco to attempt murder. It was by fate alone that during his sixth year he hadn’t killed anyone. Merlin knew, he tried. And it was all for that bastard.

His nostrils flared in utter hatred for the monster that had manipulated him, his father, had driven his aunt mad. His four sets of claws distended, gouging the hard ground beneath the hay. She cautiously took another step back. Draco’s horned tail swept quickly back and forth, thudding against the close walls like thunder and his wings began to twitch and flutter. He concentrated on the day the Muggle Studies professor had died on his dining table, as the Dark Lord serenely called to his snake to devour the dead witch, all while they watched, motionless, helpless. The red eyes of Lord Voldemort were forever burned into Draco’s skull and he focused on the horrible memories now and hoped that she would understand.

Granger gasped, clutching her mouth before she outright screamed, breaking his intense concentration. Before he knew it, she had fled.

§§§§

“I’m telling you, Charlie, there’s something… _special _… about that dragon.” Granger had fled almost directly into Charlie’s arms, terrified by the dragon’s aggressive behavior as much as the horrifying vision she had had in the stable. Throughout her terror, she never cried nor told him exactly what had happened. It wasn’t a matter of trust; Charlie was family to her and besides, he was a facilitator at the sanctuary – he, of all people, should be told. The trouble was that she still was not completely sure herself, so how could she explain anything to anyone? It was very odd, to say the least, and it was not the first time she had felt something from Draco the dragon, something unspoken, something _off___.

Wonderful and kind Charlie had consoled her and begged her to tell him what had frightened her, but she was soon better and brushed off her fears to talk to him instead about her new friend. Hermione was a grown woman. She had every right to her secrets, he knew, and he was a little bit pleased that she had come to him when she was disturbed. Except now he thought she was perhaps manic as she carried on and on about the uniqueness of the Common Welsh Green she liked so much. She was harried and it was starting to make him anxious as well.

“Yes, I agree! He’s remarkable. And what you’ve been doing is very sweet, but it’s no kindness to him. He has to rejoin his kind and learn what even the younglings know instinctively. He doesn’t have those instincts, Hermione,” he calmly said, holding her arms gently, trying to sooth her with his tone.

Hermione blustered, breaking his hold. “Don’t be ridiculous! Dragons are solitary creatures, of course. But this one –”

“Yes,” he agreed, speaking over her. “They are – when they are of age, when they are forced from the nest as their mothers decide they’re worth eating. Hermione…” Charlie sighed, his hands resting on his hips. Neither of them spoke or looked at each other for a short moment as he gathered his thoughts. 

“I’m not sure what happened to him, or to you, to be perfectly honest,” he said with a small huff, “But the Welsh _is_ different. He doesn’t know how to fend for himself, for starters, and that’s unheard of in a dragon his age.” She was still perturbed, pacing about his office and trying to talk over him every chance she could.

“When we found him, when he was brought here, he was so emaciated that we weren’t certain we could save him. Now look how far he’s come – only by the hands of wizards and healers! He’s not acclimating properly.” Charlie sighed, running his hand over his cropped hair absently. “You can’t begin to imagine what his life was like before Romania – an outcast, abandoned, hungry. You should have seen him, should have heard Ron and Harry’s report, how the poor beast was supposedly living off the ruins of Malfoy Manor -”

“Where did you say?” Hermione gasped, staring wide-eyed at him. Before Charlie could repeat himself, she was running out of the door, out into the night. He stared after her for a short moment before sighing again. Charlie was not entirely sure it wasn’t out of relief.

Of course, that was it! That was what had been missing from the equation. Everything made sense now. Unbelievable as it seemed, somehow, Draco Malfoy was a dragon. She wanted to laugh, or to scream, something to release the energy whizzing through her. In that same instant, though, she realized that knowing this much was only the beginning. 

What had happened to him? 

Her first supposition was that he had been cursed – the boy had many, many enemies, of course. She shook her head. Hermione had to correct herself. Draco Malfoy would be a man, not a boy, now. How long had he been a dragon, she wondered. When had she last seen or even heard of Malfoy? She couldn’t recall. Was it possible that he had been living as a dragon all this time, since the battle at Hogwarts so many years ago? 

“That’s absolutely ridiculous,” she said to herself. Still, her mind was buzzing with speculation versus fact with unhealthy doses of curiosity and desire to cure him. Her footsteps abruptly stopped. Should she even do that? Could she? What if she was wrong and this enigmatic dragon was nothing more than he seemed, and it was all just a coincidence. A very, very unlikely coincidence, admittedly, but there was the possibility. 

There were only two ways to know for sure.

§§§§

She had run away from him, screaming at the monster he truly was. Draco refused to leave his stable the next morning and the healers spent a great deal of time checking him for any maladies. When nothing was revealed, they examined his food and his fecal matter, which utterly disgusted him and was almost enough to force him out. Eventually they drew their empty conclusions and decided he simply needed rest. Yes, these were the brilliant specialists the sanctuary offered, completely incapable of discovering that he was not really a dragon to begin with.

Only Granger knew. She had to know, even if she did not believe it. That was why she ran away – not that she was terrified of _him_. Draco consoled himself this way for some time, hoping he would believe it sooner or later. Her horror-struck face swam before him every time he shut his eyes.

§§§§

The librarian kept an eye on Hermione Granger sharper than any eagle could dream as she pawed through the towers of books she had collected throughout the morning. Each one she discarded with a huff of irritation that grew louder the deep she plunged into her stacks. Nothing. Not a single, measly mention of anything like what she suspected had happened to Malfoy had ever been recorded. At least not in this library, which was especially disappointing since the largest active dragon sanctuary was located no less than 200 kilometres away. If anywhere could have something, this ought to have been the place, yet she was once again leaving a library empty-handed.

In a matter of days, Hermione had visited nearly ten libraries throughout central and south Romania, hoping against hope. But she refused to give up. There was, of course, always Hogwarts, although the idea of leaving Draco behind concerned her tremendously, especially since Charlie, sweet, good-hearted Charlie, was not aware of the truth and was steadily preparing to release poor Draco into the wild. 

How did she always manage to find herself in such predicaments?

Telling Charlie the truth had occurred to her, more than once, but every time she managed to dissuade herself. She had no real evidence, which galled her, but there were plenty of circumstances that seemed to fall neatly into place that she had little doubt she was wrong about this. Still, she knew she ought to talk to Charlie. Or, better yet, Draco.

Hermione sighed again, sinking down into her chair, almost beneath the table.

§§§§

“Draco?”

Draco’s elongated neck stiffened at the voice calling him from the stall door. How dare she come here now, after nearly a week without so much as a brief glimpse or a message of any kind? Most of that time he was not surprised. Had their roles been reversed, he would have laughed at her and run away as well, never to return. He rolled his head to rest it against his curled under arms. Yet there she was, even looking apologetic. Draco snorted. _Gryffindors._  
“Allow me to begin by saying,” Granger cleared her throat before continuing. “That I’m not one hundred percent convinced. The idea is irrational, unprecedented, and if the library is to be believed, and absolutely confounding.” She snorted. Her arms were crossed over her chest indignantly, but he could tell it was not aimed at him, not directly, anyway. Draco perked up. 

She cut her eyes up at him and asked, “Are you an Animagus?” Draco shook his head slowly. “Do you know…how this happened?” Again, he answered with a shake. Granger’s arms unfolded and her right hand moved directly into her mouth to chew on her nails. 

A small flicker of hope lit within Draco as she remained quiet. Although she had said the library had been no help whatsoever, she did not say she could not, or would not, help him, and judging by her current behavior – and frankly, by her presence alone – he guarded that hope. Small fractured sentences could hardly be made out as she considered his predicament. Not for the first time, and he felt certain it would hardly be the last, Draco ached to speak. 

Granger came to no sound conclusion and was about to say as much when she looked over at the dragon, who supposedly was once Draco Malfoy, childhood bully and fiend, and to what he was urgently drawing her attention. There, in crude lettering, was a single word:

PLEASE

What remained of the night the pair spent with their heads together, exchanging stunted words or images, desperately trying somehow to understand what they were facing. And for the first time in over two years, Draco was no longer alone.

§§§§

The questions Granger came up with…Not since sharing a dormitory with two of the most ignorant bastards who ever walked the halls of Hogwarts had Draco been subjected to such annoyances. Her questions ran from absurd to insane. She investigated his star charts, checking to see if, perhaps, he had been born under a bad star. Hermione mirthlessly laughed. Yes, she was willing to even investigate Divination in order to help Draco Malfoy. Once she began, there was no hope of ever distracting her, he discovered. It took some effort on his part to remember she was doing this for his benefit, not to simply pry into his personal life, with such questions about his diet, his habits, even the women with whom he had slept – all of which was quite difficult to answer. Early on, she refreshed his memory and helped him with Legilimency exercises, which made a vast improvement in their communication capabilities, but the frustration merely transferred to other areas as they made little progress. It seemed the only thing they both agreed upon was that Draco was unwittingly cursed, however there were no leads, or rather, too many possibilities when it came to a culprit. So instead, Granger decided they needed to focus on the reversal.

“Don’t you roll your eyes at me! I don’t care if you _are_ a dragon…” she often responded during the worst of it. 

Charlie Weasley was still a problem, too. Even though he already knew, Granger explained to Draco Weasley’s position on and opinion of Draco as a dragon. Why she did not confess to her ardent admirer, Draco hadn’t a clue. Knowing thus, his heart felt lighter at times. Without Weasley being included in their research and deliberations, everything had to be kept secret. Most days, Granger spent the time Draco was kept busy with healers and trainers and squibs off in her quarters or in some obscure library out of the country; she even made an extended visit to Hogwarts, she related upon her return, during which she _attempted_ to pick the brain of Headmistress McGonagall, the old battle axe. He could easily imagine her pitiful attempts at stealth. 

The monotony and the stress of the one-sided research got to them both, so Draco often nudged her out of his stable, out through the paddock, into the night where he would whisk her up on to his back and they would soar away, leaving everything behind. Playtime helped them both relax and occasionally the distraction inspired Granger so she insisted to go back, to look into whatever brilliant idea had blossomed. Draco hated to go back too soon, but for her, for the cause, he obeyed.

Ultimately, she was unsuccessful in her research, yet she still snuck into his stable each night to divulge to him what small discoveries she thought worth mentioning. This went on in this way for over a week, and both were growing weary in every sense. Charlie made multiple appearances, at random times, on the pretense that he had been looking for Granger, or that he had some innocuous examination to perform. Hogwash. All three were deeply involved in the subterfuge.

One night, as both were on the verge of sleep and Granger was still sharing what she had read, whispering so quietly that perhaps only he and the other dragons could make the words out, she crawled over to rest her head against his folded arms. He was so very tired, refusing her never came to mind. Still, she was muttering under her breath, sleep obviously taking her down. Granger snuggled against him after a moment, adjusting herself against his overly warm body. Draco watched her through half-lidded eyes as she tugged his wing down to cover herself before they succumbed to sleep at last.

§§§§

The stable slats were well constructed so that very little sunlight found its way through, making it easy for anyone to oversleep. Charlie stood silently inside the stable door, astonished at the sight before him. He knew that Hermione was fond of this particular dragon, and he knew that he was rather unique, but what he did not know was how strong their connection was. Never, in all his years working with dragons, had he known a single one willing to bed down with a human.

He could not move, could hardly think. How had this happened? For an instant, Charlie feared that perhaps Hermione was actually dead, until he heard her sigh as the dragon she was nestled against released a deep sigh in his sleep. All thought of what to do escaped him. Finally, he quietly called her name. Lethargically, still mostly asleep, she responded. As she rubbed her fist in one eye, Charlie silently implored her to get up. When at last she reached the door, Charlie latched onto her wrist and shuffled them out of the stable, back to his office.

It did not take very long for Hermione to both wake up completely and feel incredibly guilty. Honestly, she had no reason to feel that way, but she had been caught out of bed after hours, sleeping with a _dragon_. She tried to imagine how it might look to someone else, Charlie in particular. She hadn’t dared tell him what was really going on between her and Draco, and now she was somewhat glad for that. Still, Charlie was in charge, she was a visitor, and he was her friend. He had every right to know not only what she was doing this morning, but the truth as well. But how could she tell him?

Unlike his younger brother Ron, Charlie had a fairly even temperament. Nothing seemed to bend him out of shape, which was an admirable trait that Hermione wished she had as well. She watched as he offered her a seat before taking his own behind his desk, which was littered with paperwork for the sanctuary, official business that he told her he was responsible for whether he liked it or not. The rest of his office better represented his passion. Photos covered most of the walls, images of his family, creatures he either loved or had a history with, and artifacts from various locations. Hermione knew this was his office only because one was required of him. What she did not know was what to expect when he would finally speak to her.

“Is everything all right?” He asked. Hermione shrugged then blushed guiltily. She was a grown woman, for God’s sake; she shouldn’t be so damn secretive about all this. The truth was churning in her stomach, the words bubbling on the roof of her mouth, about to burst out from her when he carried on without notice. “You’ve made remarkable improvement in that Welsh’s life,” he nudged towards his window in the direction of the stables. “He’s like a kitten, hm?”

Hermione smirked, imagining how Draco Malfoy might respond to such a comparison. Charlie continued quietly, “But he’s not, Hermione.”

“Yes,” she agreed without hesitation, expressing a heavy sigh. “Yes, you’re right. He’s not. He’s actually -”

“A dangerous creature, yes,” Charlie said, relief flooding his face. Hermione balked. Did he honestly think she was so naïve to think that he was otherwise? Her pride bristled at the implication but she let him go on. “All of us here at the sanctuary are here because we love the dragons, we want to nurture them, heal them, so that they can one day return to their natural environment and continue their lives – eating, breeding, allowing nature to guide them. But there is a distinction, Hermione, between the staff and the patients.” He looked at her gravely, as though imparting never-before-heard wisdom to a young pupil. “We cannot grow too attached.”

Hermione blinked. “I care a great deal for -”

“No, Hermione,” Charlie interrupted. “You _love_ that dragon.” The gravity of his words silenced any protest because she realized just how right he was. “Which is why staying at the sanctuary would be perfect for you. You love all of these creatures, all the wonders this world offers, and were made to be a caretaker. Like me.”

Hermione was no longer listening, her mind repeating only part of what he said. _You love that dragon._ The idea was preposterous on many, many levels. Draco Malfoy could not even be considered a friend, let alone someone she could care so deeply for. But she did, without even realizing it herself. In a daze, in the middle of Charlie’s soliloquy, she walked out.

§§§§

Draco was aware of Charlie’s presence the moment he stood outside his stable, yet he continued to feign sleep. The small warmth that emitted from Granger’s body pressed snuggly against his own was so comforting, not even Weasley could take that away from him. Or so he thought. He remained _asleep_ while Charlie coaxed her away and felt the chill run through him. Alone, he thought about what her absence meant and was not happy with himself. For what was neither the first nor the last time, Draco regretted how much time he had wasted. So many opportunities, washed away in ignorance and indulgence. How much happiness had he tossed away with both hands, he often wondered.

Somewhere in the distance, thunder rolled and he could feel the storm coming like a weight on his heart. He glanced down at her empty place with longing. Were they friends? Yes, he could say that much, but something was missing, something significant that he couldn’t quite place. His arm felt empty so he curled up tightly and tried to sleep again, but all the while he wondered where she was and if she might return. 

Within her room, Hermione sat watching the storm as it rumbled up the mountainside, sending warning booms of thunder before the rain finally followed. She stood before the window, studying the roiling storm. As the rain slowly poured down the glass it cast watery reflections on her face, imitating tears as they endlessly fell down. This time of year, the rain chilled you to the bone, and alone in her room, she was that much colder. Her thoughts only added to the storm. It was less about what Charlie had unwittingly said and more about how right he was, and how obtuse she had been even to her own emotions. And it worried her even more, knowing this, allowing herself to acknowledge her unconscious interests, that she would continue to fail Draco, in more ways than one. 

She had never before felt so fragile. The rain was the perfect excuse to keep them apart and offered a brief respite to set her mind and heart in order.

An hour later, Hermione startled awake from a very vivid dream, one that left her sweating, her heart pounding, and her body aching with want.

§§§§

Although she would have rather stayed in her room the rest of the day and possibly the week, Hermione assumed that time was running out. Charlie was suspicious of her attachment to Draco, and she worried that that could lead to questions she was unprepared to answer, or possibly to his removal from the sanctuary. For the tenth time since her nap, Hermione blushed. She took a deep breath and tried to control herself as she swung the stable doors open and looked for Draco. He was not there. Frantically, she marched back outside, into the paddock, and was further surprised to not find him there, either. Remembering Charlie, she dared not ask anyone where he had been taken, and instead chose to wander the grounds, surreptitiously checking for a grey-eyed green dragon.

Not much time had passed before she finally saw him, up in the sky. There was no guessing how long he would be flying, and since she was anxious to avoid suspicion, it seemed her only choice was to return to her room and forget about telling him anything. Having come to her decision, she took a deep, settling breath and spun on her heel, directly into Charlie.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed, her open palms grasping at his shirt as she tumbled. Charlie laughed and helped to right her before asking where she was headed. A dozen lies screamed inside her head, itching to blast out of her mouth, but the truth beat them all. “Back inside, to my room. I… I left something behind that I want.”

Charlie held onto her elbow and tried to dissuade her from going back indoors, especially now that the rain had finally stopped. He suggested she accompany him to the Ridgeback paddock, to see the progress of one of their captivity-born dragons, but she declined. Hermione was not certain how many times she glanced up into the sky, but she was positive he had noticed. Thankfully though, he let her go about her own business. She took several steps towards the main building and peeked behind her twice to make sure he wasn’t watching her. As soon as she was around the nearest building, she practically collapsed. After a second to get her breathing in order, she turned once more to the skies, but Draco was no longer visible. Neither was Charlie.

Hermione took the opportunity to dash across to Draco’s stable and simply wait for him to return. Suffice it to say, she was greatly alarmed when she came face to face with him within. “Don’t _do_ that!” she screamed, her hand clutching her chest, her eyes squeezed shut. When she opened them, he was staring down at her, head cocked to the side. If he could have smirked, she was sure he would have been. She rolled her eyes. “We haven’t much time,” she began and told Draco about her conversation with Charlie. Well, most of it, anyway.

For the next half hour she related to him what she had discovered and theories she wanted to explore, and did her best to keep hope in her voice, but she was disconcerted nevertheless. She remained silent for several minutes, and then Draco nudged her, urging her to tell him what she was obviously withholding. She brushed him aside, her brow furrowed as she bit the skin of her lips in irritation. 

Draco was not a fool; he knew something else was bothering her, something that concerned him directly and she was blatantly refusing to share it. If she had discovered something, if there was even the slightest possibility that this curse could be undone, then she was obligated to tell him. His nostrils flared and his tail whipped back and forth. He glared at her as she sat there, still biting her lips, still silently betraying him. How dare she? What about last night, or this morning? Did that mean nothing to her? Draco was startled by just how much it had meant to him, more than even he realized. She was supposed to be his friend, and he cared about her. Obviously, she did not feel the same.

Still glaring down at her, Draco decided he was finished waiting. He focused all of his concentration and forced his way into her mind, to probe out what she was hiding from him. He had every right to know, and nothing would stop him. As he broke through her weak mental barriers, he instantly found what kept her preoccupied and silent.

There was a fire, a roaring, vibrant fire flickering within the grate, casting long, deep shadows against the far wall. The room was dark and hot and soft, very soft. He knew at once he had never seen this place before, but it was somehow very familiar. Soon his eyes adjusted to the darkness and he could make out a large figure before the fire, writhing and moaning. Next he saw it wasn’t one but two, and then he saw their faces. 

He saw himself sitting on the floor, upon some kind of animal fur, and a woman was riding him. No, not a woman. Granger. They were making love slowly, wrapped in each others’ arms. Granger was gyrating down on him, her hair wild and loose as her head flung backwards with a long, drawn out moan. Draco saw his old hands wrap around her, one clutching to her shoulder, to brace her, as the other cupped her breast. She whimpered as he suckled her neck.

The next instant, Granger had forced him out of her mind and he was thrown roughly back into the stable, facing a furiously blushing witch, whose eyes were bulging out of her skull. Draco stared down at her, unbelievingly. What had he seen? In a blink, she had vanished, and he was left feeling agitated, confused, and rather… unsatisfied.

Just outside the stable, there was a scuffle. Draco shook his enormous head to clear the confusion before he moved to investigate. When he heard Granger yell, No, he practically charged through the doors, out into the paddock, where he found her being restrained by two wizards. Smoke curled up from his nostrils and his eyes disappeared into slits. Charlie was standing in front of her, pleading with her to be reasonable. Draco’s dramatic appearance drew everybody’s attention. 

No one dared move an inch until suddenly three wizards conjured up chains that flew directly towards Draco. He saw them too late and his struggles were in vain. At any moment, he expected to be Stupified or shocked, subdued in some torturous way, but it never came. Instead, the wizards clung to his restraints and began to lead him away from the paddock. Granger was loudly arguing with Charlie now; he could hear her trying to tell him about his curse, yet Charlie refused to listen. She must have realized how impossible telling a Weasley anything sensible was, because he could no longer hear her voice, and instead she appeared before him, fighting her way past the three men. In the background, Draco heard Charlie order the men to cease and she flung her arms around him. 

She was babbling and he could not understand her at all, but she pulled back to look at him. She was crying. He could see her sorrow pooling in her brown eyes and his heart ached. One small hand reached up to pet his cheek. 

Draco closed his eyes against her gentle touch. This was her goodbye, then, and the death of hope of ever being a man again, but it was the first that hurt the most. He nuzzled against her palm, wishing he could say more, say anything at all; wishing more than ever that he was a man who could hold her, kiss her goodbye, or even simply say her name. _Hermione, I’m sorry,_ he repeated within his mind, hoping she could hear him there. 

He heard her sniffle and he squeezed his eyes tighter still, then suddenly she was gone. Everything seemed to happen simultaneously: Charlie was there, accompanied by two other sanctuary workers he vaguely recognized, the pair holding Granger back by her elbows as she protested. It did not occur to him to struggle against his distracted capturers until it was too late. Charlie stood several metres before him, frowning. He looked at Charlie with confusion and curiosity. The man appeared distraught, not angry, yet his words were vitriolic.

“It’s time for your pet to venture out on his own, now,” he said amidst Granger’s continued protests and struggles. Charlie ignored her as he ordered the three to continue removing Draco from the paddock. His resistance was impotent against their bindings, yet he tried. Granger, he had to help her, wanted to so badly, but he knew Charlie was right. What could he possibly offer Granger in this form? He would hurt her more deeply than she deserved, no matter if he stayed or left, and he knew exactly how much it would hurt him to stay and see how Weasley and Granger’s relationship might progress. Charlie was right, of course. Draco acquiesced. 

“No, no! Charlie, wait, please,” she begged, crying openly. Draco was forced away from her and her heart sank. She had to save him, to tell the truth. “Draco, Draco! He’s Draco!” Charlie walked over towards her, sympathy evident, his hand reaching out to comfort her distress, but he didn’t understand. “He’s Draco _Malfoy_ , cursed! Charlie, listen – listen to me!”

Charlie slowly shook his head, not quite reaching her before stopping short. Did he understand? The three men leading Draco away also stopped, curiously looking between them for further instruction. “Oh, Hermione,” he sighed, lowering his head in defeat. “Why did I not see it before?” Hermione’s heart skipped a beat and her tears dried on her cheeks. There was hope still. 

“I should have paid better attention to how attached you’ve grown to this dragon,” he quietly said. “He’s just a dragon, Hermione. He’s not what you think, not a person. I suppose, somehow, I saw what was happening, but I chose to ignore it, and now I’ve allowed you to be hurt.” Charlie pinched his nose between his eyes, as though staving off a headache. “I thought we were kindred spirits. Had I known how sensitive you are,” Charlie flinched. He paused, searching for the right word. “How _susceptible_ , I would never have allowed you to stay here. I’m so sorry.” 

He nonchalantly waved the three men back to their task and Hermione managed to break free from the pair whose hold had slackened while Charlie spoke. She ran directly to Draco and flung her arms around his lowered head, around his neck, desperately holding on to him. “Draco, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” she whispered through her tears. “I should have said something sooner. It’s all my fault. I-I failed you,” she choked. The men who had held her were now trying to pry her hands apart. She kicked at them yet managed to keep her hold on Draco. She heard Charlie give an order to subdue the dragon, and she knew she was too small offer any protection, wand or no wand. She kept her back towards the men and whispered, “The time we’ve shared has meant the world to me. You’ve changed me.” She sniffled, “I’ll make it right, Draco, I’ll keep studying until I find the cure. I’ll find you, I’ll find you,” she promised. 

Her tears wetted his scaly face, masking the track of his own single tear as it fell down to join hers. With a heavy heart, Draco tried to tell her to let him go, to thank her for what she had done for him, but he couldn’t. He could only nuzzle her cheek and hope that she understood. Granger pulled back slightly as the men tried once more to haul her away, and she kissed the edge of his mouth.

A charge ran through his body, as though he’d been struck by lightning. His entire body seized up, his heart stopped beating in his mighty chest and his eyes bulged. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he believed he was dying, that Charlie or his men had cast the worst of the Unforgiveable curses in order to be rid of him at last. But the pain endured, stretching endlessly on and on, and he could feel nothing else. Then there was a snapping noise, like several branches cracking all at once, and Draco curled in on himself. His wings shrank into his back and his tail, too. A tremendous roar escaped from his throat, accompanied by streams of fire and smoke. The chains that bound him clattered to the ground and Draco soon followed, collapsing in a heap of anguish. The blood rushed through his ears, blocking out every other sound, even his own roars. A moment later, someone was bellowing, a continuous expression of misery, and it never occurred to him that he was the one making the noise until he ran out of breath.

Draco huffed and heaved upon the ground, his fingers digging into the dirt and grass as he sputtered and choked. His legs curled up towards his chest protectively and he was very, very cold. 

“Draco?”

Once the screaming had ceased, it seemed the entire sanctuary was silent, except for one whispered word, his name. Draco blinked against the sunlight to see Granger kneeling in front of him, her hand poised above. He reached out to touch her and saw a man’s hand instead of a green claw. 

They were all stunned into silence, which Granger broke with a yelp. She flung herself across his naked, trembling body, still crying, and chanted his name over and over again. She gasped and pulled back, retrieving her wand from her back pocket. Draco took the opportunity to look around and found Charlie standing in the distance, his mouth wide open in shock. The others were making similar faces and soon chaos broke out. Granger covered Draco with the blanket she had conjured up and began rubbing his arms, his back. He met her eyes and she was smiling as she cried.

“You did it, Granger. You saved me…” he croaked, his voice hoarse from the smoke and fire.

“Hermione,” she corrected him with a smile. “Call me Hermione…Draco.” She clung to him and he held on tightly, afraid of letting her go, afraid that all of this was some terrible dream from which he would soon wake. How did this happen? 

The kiss. It had to have been when she kissed him. A faint voice echoed through his head, sounding much like his former Headmaster. _Amor vincit omnia._ He wanted to laugh, but he hurt too much. Draco Malfoy had been given a second chance, and he was not about to waste it. He grinned back at the witch who was embracing him. With a trembling hand, he wiped at the tears on her cheek, and then he kissed her for the first time. He knew in his heart, it would not be the last.

The end.


End file.
